The Merchant of Dreams

by Anne Lyle

  She went straight up to her room, but paused at the top of the stairs when she heard whistling coming from behind the closed door. For a moment she considered going back down to the parlour, but she was in no mood for more conversation with Raleigh, so she knocked quietly. No response. She knocked again, a little louder. The whistling stopped, and footsteps approached the door. It opened to reveal Mal, stripped to the waist and rubbing his damp hair with a towel.

  “Ah, Coby, about time,” he said.

  “Sir?”

  She looked down at her feet. Though she had seen him half-dressed many times, in the wake of her recent thoughts it was particularly irksome of him to be flaunting his virility so.

  “We need to talk.” He opened the door wider and she made to go inside. “No, not in here. I want to talk to Sandy as well. And the others.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks became even hotter, if that were possible. Idiot! Presuming he was talking about you, when-- “I’ll… I’ll just wait out here for you to finish washing, shall I?”

  “I’ll be out in a moment. Run down and see if Jameson has any of that Tuscan red left, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.” She hesitated. “What are you doing here? I thought Lord Kiiren wanted you to stay and be tended.”

  “He changed his mind and let me loose.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s wonderful.” She forced a smile. Changed his mind, my foot! The ambassador was up to something again, she would put a month’s wages on it.

  She ran down to the kitchen, where Jameson grudgingly handed out a flagon of wine and five glasses, all of them old and chipped, placing them one by one on a silver tray with a look that warned her not to drop them on the marble stairs or else. She dutifully took the tray and advanced slowly up to the attic, flinching at every wobble.

  Mal was in the larger of the two attic rooms and now at least partially dressed, in a clean shirt and with his wet hair combed neatly back. Gabriel was lying on one of the beds, leafing through a stack of papers – probably his play – whilst Ned dealt cards on the counterpane at his side. Sandy was staring out of the small window under the eaves. She set the tray down on the rickety table in a chime of glass and metal.

  “Good, we’re all here,” Mal said, pouring out the wine. “I did not escape the fondaco this evening, as you may have been thinking. I have been out and about all day, trying to bring this sorry mission to a conclusion. And I have bad news.”

  “Hennaq is here,” Coby said.

  “You’ve seen his ship?”

  She shook her head. “Just a guess.”

  “A good one. Anyway I’ve already spoken to him. He seemed quite amenable to taking Olivia in lieu of Sandy and I.”

  He caught Coby’s eye and smiled, then handed her a glass of wine. Her fingers tightened on the smooth, fragile stem and she forced herself to relax. Soon they would be rid of both Hennaq and the courtesan, and could continue their mission in peace.

  “That’s good,” Sandy said.

  “It would be, but for one small difficulty: I swore I would do it tomorrow, and the lagoon will be busy with celebrations for the new Doge. How in the name of all that’s holy am I to get her onto Hennaq’s ship unseen?”

  “That is the easy part,” Sandy replied. “After all, you’ve done something like it before.”

  When Mal did not reply, Sandy stood with arms outstretched, like a man greeting a long-lost friend. Coby recalled the vision she had seen at the Tower of London. A magical tunnel through the dreamlands, with Sandy at the far end.

  “No, I can’t,” Mal said.

  “Yes you can. This woman has been training you, hasn’t she?”

  Mal nodded, his face a picture of guilt. Coby tried not to think about what that training had involved. How often had they slept together, in body as well as spirit?

  “Then it will be simple to deceive her,” Sandy went on. “Let her believe it is just another dreamwalk, then I will make the link and you can bring her through.”

  “Through to where?”

  “Hennaq’s cabin would be the best place. Least chance of being seen.”

  “But that means you’ll be on the ship as well,” Mal said. “What’s to stop him sailing away with you both?”

  “You. As soon as Olivia steps through, I will come to you.”

  “I thought you needed a strong anchor,” Coby said, the courtesan momentarily forgotten. “That was why you couldn’t escape from Suffolk until Lord Kiiren drew near.”

  “We are both stronger now. It will suffice.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Mal muttered. “Anyway, I’m not sure I know how. Last time, I was sleepwalking–”

  “Exactly. Do not worry, brother, it will come as naturally as breathing, I promise you.”

  Gabriel put aside his sheaf of papers and got to his feet. “What are the rest of us to do in the meantime?”

  “Stay out of harm’s way,” Sandy said.

  “You can’t exclude us,” Ned put in. “We haven’t come all this way to sit on our hands, you know.”

  Sandy crossed the room swiftly and leant over Ned. “This is beyond your skills, little man.”

  Gabriel took hold of Sandy’s arm.

  “Lay a finger on him and you’ll have me to deal with.”

  Sandy turned and bared his teeth like a skrayling. Coby shot a desperate glance at Mal, but he was already there.

  “Sandy, enough! You too, Parrish.”

  He glared at them until they resumed their places, then gestured for Coby to pour more wine. She wasn’t sure that would help, but it was something to do.

  “There is still the question of timing to be decided,” Mal said. “Olivia will be surrounded by people all day, I am certain.”

  “We can do it after the reception,” Sandy replied. “Surely you can contrive to go home with her?”

  “The celebrations could go on all night, if they’re anything like court masques back home.” Mal sighed. “I’ll have to go back to Hennaq and tell him there’s been a delay.”

  “You cannot, if you have already pressed hands on the bargain. Hennaq would be entitled to go ahead with his original scheme and take us both to Vinland.”

  “He has to get hold of us first,” Mal replied.

  “Then we will have to do it at the reception.”

  Coby stared at them both. “What? Work magic in the middle of a gathering of Venice’s most powerful men? Do you want to be burned for witchcraft?”

  “We convinced people it was fireworks before,” Gabriel said.

  “A few gullible actors–”

  “This time it will be real,” Sandy said. “There is to be a display of fireworks in the square after dark. Amongst all the noise and bright lights, who will notice?”

  “He has a point,” Gabriel said. “All you need to do is lure Olivia into some quiet corner when everyone is distracted, and…”

  “All right,” Mal said. “But my first obligation is to protect Sandy. If I cannot find an opportunity to abduct Olivia before midnight, I will come back to the embassy and open a tunnel for you to escape Hennaq’s ship. Swear to me you will come?”

  “I swear,” his brother replied.

  Ned clapped Mal on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. Gabe, Hendricks and me can keep watch and make sure you’re not disturbed.”

  Coby shot him a filthy look. She was relieved Mal would not be spending the evening alone with Olivia, and that toad Faulkner knew it, but he need not look so smug about it. She distracted herself by gathering up the glasses, though she did not trust herself to carry them downstairs without an accident.

  “Here,” she said, thrusting the tray at Ned. “You wanted to be useful. Take this down to the kitchen.”

  When he had gone she lingered in the doorway, hoping to hear the sound of breaking glass.

  “Come, it’s time we were all abed,” Mal said, leaning over her.

  She looked up into his dark eyes. “You will be careful?”

  “Of course. You don’t get ri
d of me that easily.”

  For a moment she thought – hoped – he was going to kiss her, but he just ruffled her hair and gave her a playful shove towards the little attic room. She bade him good night and plodded down the steps. Tomorrow. It would all be over, tomorrow.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Coby slept badly that night, haunted by nightmares in which Mal burned on a pyre studded with fireworks whilst an unseen woman laughed and laughed. As dawn came she lay staring up at the rafters, watching their now-familiar lines coalesce out of the darkness, and wrestled with her conscience. There was no getting away from it; she had to at least try to persuade Mal not to go through with this idiotic plan, otherwise she would never forgive herself.

  As soon as it was full light, she got out of bed, washed and dressed, then flung open the shutters. The street outside was quiet apart from a man with a handcart delivering sacks of flour to the nearby bakery. The city seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of its greatest day of the year: the celebration of its independence as a self-ruled republic.

  She could hear the men on the way down to breakfast. Opening the door she caught Mal’s eye.

  “May I have a word, sir?”

  “Of course.”

  He waved the others ahead of him. Coby caught Ned winking at Mal, who shook his head. She pretended not to notice. Let them play their foolish games.

  Mal closed the door at the top of the stairs.

  “Well?”

  She cleared her throat, summoning all her courage to say what she knew he did not want to hear.

  “I know you know far more of these things than I do, sir, but I don’t think this is a good idea. You only just prevailed against Suffolk, and if Master Alexander is to be believed, he was nothing compared to one of the ancients.”

  Mal put his hand on her shoulder.

  “I know you’re afraid for me,” he said softly. “But I have to do this.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? If I don’t, Hennaq will take Sandy and me back to the New World. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not. But surely there’s another way? Why do you have to risk your life – your soul – to capture this guiser? Venice has managed perfectly well for centuries without our interference.”

  “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. But it is not my role to decide these things. I was sent here by Sir Francis to spy on the negotiations, and I can do that best with Olivia out of the way. Nor will it hurt to show the skraylings that I respect their ways, beginning with helping one of their lost sheep find her way home.”

  She shook her head. “I think you have become obsessed with this woman.”

  “I? I am not the one who blushes at every mention of her name.”

  Coby stared at him for a moment, then wrenched open the door and ran down the stairs, heedless of the tears streaming down her face. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She had let her jealousy derail her reasoned argument, and now he would never listen to her.

  After breakfast they dispersed to their chambers and reassembled half an hour later in the atrium. Berowne wore a heavily embroidered peascod doublet and an enormous ruff edged with Venetian lace, whilst Raleigh was dressed in the latest English fashion, in an oyster-coloured silk doublet with a simple collar of near-transparent lawn, and black-and-white striped trunk hose. Mal’s borrowed finery was not unlike his former livery as Kiiren’s bodyguard, all sable velvet discreetly slashed with matching silk, and the others were likewise dressed in traditional Venetian black. Coby’s doing, no doubt; none of them wanted to attract attention tonight.

  Berowne handed out masks.

  “Damned foolish custom, if you ask me,” he said, “but we’ll look the fools for showing our bare faces on a festival day.”

  A sudden knock at the front door made Mal start. Sbirri? His heart pounded as Jameson shuffled over to the door, painfully slowly, and unfastened the locks and bolts.

  “May I help you, sir?” he quavered through the gap.

  “I damn well hope so,” a half-familiar voice said. “I’m here to see my brothers.”

  Jameson opened the door a little further.

  “Alexander! Maliverny! How good to see you again!”

  Charles pushed past Jameson, beaming, but froze when he saw how many others were gathered in the atrium. To Mal’s surprise his brother looked far less disreputable than Ned’s description of him; evidently he had smartened himself up for the occasion.

  “Sir Geoffrey, Sir Walter.” Mal turned to his hosts. “This is my elder brother Charles, whom you mentioned when we arrived. Charles, this is Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Warden of the Stannaries, and His Excellency Sir Geoffrey Berowne, the English Ambassador.”

  Charles swept a low bow, muttering apologies.

  “You’re very welcome here, Catlyn,” Berowne replied. “Won’t you join us in the gondola?”

  “Delighted, Your Excellency, delighted!”

  Mal forced a smile. “It’s good to see you too, Charles.”

  Berowne led the way to the gondola dock and took his place in the cabin with Raleigh. The three brothers perched on side-benches in the prow of the gondola, whilst Coby, Ned and Gabriel sat in the stern. Fortunately two gondoliers had been hired today, one at the front and one at the back, otherwise the heavily laden craft would never have made it to the lagoon in time for the ceremony.

  “Well, this is a happy day,” Charles said as they set off. “All the family, together again at last.”

  “All that’s left,” Mal replied softly. “What brings you here so unexpectedly?”

  “Your man Faulkner. He convinced me that you would be open to a reconciliation.”

  Mal frowned. What was Ned up to? “Well, I confess to being curious as to what you have to say.”

  “You shall know all in due course. But perhaps not here, eh?”

  “Agreed.” The last thing he wanted was for Charles to say something incriminating in front of Berowne. Or Raleigh. “Tomorrow, perhaps. We shall all be much occupied today.”

  Crouched in the back of an overladen gondola, Coby was reminded of the skrayling ambassador’s arrival in London. Every boat in Venice, it appeared, was out on the lagoon, following the ducal galley as it rowed out to sea.

  The Bucentaur was magnificent even by Venetian standards. Gilded carving covered every inch of the galley, so that it shone in the May sunlight like a new-minted angel. A scarlet canopy ran the length of the deck, shading its occupants from the heat of the sun, and an enormous banner bearing the lion of Saint Mark adorned its single mast. Coby could just make out the tiny figure of the Doge himself, seated on a throne in the stern.

  “The new Doge, Marino Grimani,” Gabriel said, “The election was so tightly contested after the death of his predecessor, there almost wasn’t a Doge in time for the ceremony.”

  “So what happened?”

  Gabriel glanced around.

  “The word is, someone helped him to sway the voters,” he whispered. “Someone who knew a great many secrets that could ruin men if they did not change their minds.”

  “Olivia? Is that why Master Catlyn was so interested in her… business?”

  “Why else?” He gave her a sly look. “I remember when you first confessed to being in love with him. We were in a boat then, too.”

  Coby felt herself blush. She remembered it all right, far too well.

  “Do you think Grimani will be in favour of an alliance with the skraylings?” she said, trying to steer the conversation back on course.

  “It’s hard to tell. He’s said to be no friend of the Pope, but that means little.”

  Just then their gondola was bumped by another craft and Coby had to cling to the gunwales as it rocked alarmingly. The Bucentaur had passed out into the Adriatic, leaving the rest of the city’s boats trying to crowd through the bottleneck in its wake.

  “We shall all drown at this rate,” she muttered.

  The gondola did not foun
der, but there was little to be seen at this distance, so Coby amused herself with watching the occupants of other vessels nearby. Everyone was in their Sunday best and most wore masks, from simple leather shapes like the one she had worn as Columbina, to elaborate full-face constructions, painted and gilded and trimmed with feathers. It was a most peculiar and eerie custom, and one she would not be sorry to leave behind.

  After what felt like an age the ceremony was over and the boats turned back to the city.

  “Now what?” she asked Gabriel.

  “Now we go to the Sensa, the great Ascension Day fair, and pass our time in idleness until the masquerade this evening. I have a mind to see a proper commedia troupe perform. Care to join me?”

  When Berowne’s party disembarked at the quayside to visit the great fair, Mal took Erishen aside for a moment.

  “Be on your guard around Hennaq,” he said. “I have no wish to lose you.”

  “Do not fear. Last time, Hennaq was able to surprise me. Now I know his mind he will find me much harder to deceive.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Erishen wished his brothers farewell and slipped away. Mal had been against it, but Erishen had convinced him that the best time to board Hennaq’s ship was in broad daylight, when the water was at its busiest. With so many boats crowding around the quayside on their return from the ceremony, who would notice one approach the skrayling ship?

  He waited for a moment until the others had disappeared into the crowd then made his way towards Hennaq’s ship, which was anchored about halfway along the quay, equally distant from both the palace and the Arsenale. The broad quayside swarmed with merrymakers on their way to Saint Mark’s Square, and the noise and smells – the strange foods and stranger tongues, the mingled stench of sweat, urine and perfume – threatened to overwhelm him as he struggled to make progress against the relentless flow of humanity. He would have turned and run, except that there was nowhere to run to. He took several deep breaths to calm his nerves and pressed on.

  After what felt like an eternity he reached the midpoint of the quay and found a small gull-headed boat tied up amongst the gondolas. Some of Hennaq’s crew had come ashore, then. Whether this was a good or bad thing, he could not decide. He jumped aboard, untied the painter and took up the oars.